


Accidentally Calling Your Ghost Hunter "Mom"

by The_Oaken_Muse



Category: Danny Phantom
Genre: Gen, Ghost Theory, I mean, Identity Reveal, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Maddie POV, Mom Mode activate, She's wrong, but she's just left of right, is this angst?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-08
Updated: 2021-02-08
Packaged: 2021-03-13 18:08:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29282775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Oaken_Muse/pseuds/The_Oaken_Muse
Summary: Kids accidentally called their teachers “Mom” all the time. Maddie knew this. It was normal. A slip of the tongue. What was an embarrassing mistake for the child showed the teacher that she was doing a good job, that her student was comfortable around her; that she was gentle and caring, if strict at times. It showed they trusted her, loved her…So what did it mean when the ghost boy she was hunting had accidentally called her “Mom?”
Relationships: Danny Fenton & Maddie Fenton
Comments: 17
Kudos: 317





	Accidentally Calling Your Ghost Hunter "Mom"

**Author's Note:**

> Me: Hey brain, can we finish the second chapter of THTMUW
> 
> Brain: Hmmm, no can do.
> 
> Me: What? But why?
> 
> Brain: Just can't.
> 
> Brain: Tell you what, I can give you an idea for a one shot that has nothing to do with your other story at all and you won't be able to think about anything else until you write it. Sound good?
> 
> Me: That is the opposite of helpful.
> 
> Brain: It's a deal then!
> 
> Me: ...
> 
> Me: *internal screaming*
> 
> Anyway, enjoy!

Kids accidentally called their teachers “Mom” all the time. Maddie knew this. It was normal. A slip of the tongue. What was an embarrassing mistake for the child showed the teacher that she was doing a good job, that her student was comfortable around her; that she was gentle and caring, if strict at times. It showed they trusted her, loved her…

So what did it mean when the ghost boy she was hunting had accidentally called her “Mom?”

She had caught him off guard. He had just finished fighting with another ghost, trapped it in that Fenton Thermos he had somehow gotten his hands on. He was breathing hard and looked exhausted, which was strange for a ghost, but they already knew he wasn’t like the other ghosts they’d studied, they just didn’t know why, and she wasn’t about to miss her opportunity to find out.

The shadows of the alley blanketed her quietly creeping form as she inched forward. She took a moment to adjust her footing, then lunged at him, eager to test the new Fenton Ghost Knuckles in close combat. She let out the breath she’d been holding as a fierce battle cry.

He turned, eyes wide, startled at the sound.

“ _Mom?_ ” he cried out, astonished, before throwing his arms up to shield his head. “No, stay away!”

She had expected him to fight back; assume a ready stance or fly out of her reach with inhuman speed, hands up and glowing that unnatural green like she had seen him do in countless other battles. It seemed like the only times they saw this particular ghost he was fighting, but not this time. Instead he stumbled backwards, curling in on himself. He looked so vulnerable. She hadn’t thought it was possible for him to look so scared.

His unexpected reaction had her screeching to a halt mere inches from him, confusion warring with adrenaline inside her. She didn’t let her guard down, but something in her gut was telling her to wait, to watch.

After a moment, the ghost boy seemed to realize that she hadn’t hit him yet and glanced up at her from behind his arms, looking equally as confused.

Her close attention saw the slight flicker of his glowing eyes from left to right as he replayed what had just happened in his mind. She witnessed the exact moment he realized what he’d said; panic wrote itself across his face as his eyes once again grew wide and he somehow became even paler.

“Uh, not-not that you’re, uh, my- _my_ mom, or any-anything,” he stuttered out, “in fact, you’re nothing alike!” He’d crossed his arms in an attempt to look confident, but the waver in his voice and fear in his eyes betrayed him.

She could tell he was lying. She was pretty sure it didn’t take being the mother of a secretive teenager to figure _that_ out. But why would he lie about something like this? What did it matter if she reminded him of his mother?

When she still didn’t make a move, either to lower her fists or to continue her attack, he’d floated cautiously into the air, legs disappearing as his body trailed away like a wisp of smoke beneath him. “Uh, how about we just forget that ever happened?”

He had flown off before she could gather herself enough to hotly declare that she would do no such thing.

She was back in the Fenton Works lab now, running some new ectoplasm samples through the standard tests; her hands moving by force of habit rather than conscious decision, mind still on her earlier encounter with the ghost boy.

There was a part of her almost convinced that it had all been a trick, that he’d played on her maternal nature to get out of a fight he’d known he would lose. A different part of her was arguing back that she had surprised him, there had been no time to plan, besides, even if he’d had the idea beforehand, he couldn’t have known that it would work. By all accounts, it _shouldn’t_ have worked…

So why had she stopped?

She was struck again by the memory of just how _young_ he had looked in that moment. They knew he was young, of course, not only in terms of how old he had likely been at the time of death, but, judging by his appearance and manner of speaking, he had to have died fairly recently as well. They had been so focused on how such a young spirit was already so powerful, that they hadn’t really considered the implications of his age. They had glossed over the sheer tragedy of his very existence in their excitement at finally having the irrefutable proof they needed to validate their life’s work.

But what had _happened_ to him? How had he _died_?

They had always operated on the idea that ghosts were completely different from their living selves; just an echo, a shadow, an imperfect copy, a person’s defining traits and strongest emotions with all the humanity distilled out. They hadn’t thought it mattered who they were _before_. That person was gone, didn’t exist anymore. They had changed, they weren’t the same. But what if it _did_ matter, not just how someone died, but also how they had _lived_ , when it came to becoming a ghost. What if that was the missing piece they needed? It could be a vital part of what motivated a ghost, determined its skill set and even its power level.

She could’ve slapped herself, they were supposed to be paranormal researchers, scientists at the top of their field, yet they had discounted an _entire variable_ in their research because of an-an… _unsubstantiated personal belief_.

She slammed down the beaker she was holding so hard it rattled a box of microscope slides and a rack of test tubes, sloshing its bioluminescent contents all over her.

She sighed, removing her googles and hood to decontaminate the exposed portion of her face.

Some people discounted intuition as a scientific tool, seeing it as capricious, inferior, or even antithesis to logic, but not Maddie. She knew that the unconscious mind held far more information than what filtered out into conscious thought; it was able to recognize the patterns formed by even the smallest pieces of evidence, the seemingly inconsequential things that logic skipped over. It could forge connections between past knowledge and current experiences in the blink of an eye. The human brain was a powerful supercomputer and intuition was its processor.

Her intuition had been paramount to building a successful career on something that the world at large still didn’t believe was even real. The evidence for the existence of ghosts, up until they had created a functioning and _stable_ portal to their realm, had been sparse. She’d needed all her faculties of observation to sift through the rumors and tall tales in order to gather the little information of the other side that had actually managed to worm its way through the veil to their world.

So to know that she had missed something as obvious as this was frustrating, to say the least.

Her thoughts drifted back to the ghost boy once again. Her intuition had stopped her attack, told her that his reaction hadn’t been some kind of clever trick, and now it was telling her that his slip, and subsequent poor attempt at covering it, was significant; a clue to his past, his identity before he became the ghost known as Danny Phantom, a hint at what made him so different from the others.

She had surprised him, and in that moment he had mistaken her for his mother, not because she had been the picture of a kind teacher guiding and nurturing a growing mind, but because she had _attacked_ him, fists and voice raised.

Her heart sank.

It made sense. She didn’t want it to make sense, but it did, and it left her feeling sick.

She put a hand to her mouth, her other arm circling her waist in a reflexive action of self-comfort, horrified eyes stared ahead, unseeing.

In her mind she was once again towering over him, ready to strike, to show no mercy; but this time he was a human child, bruised and terrified with nowhere to run and no one to turn to, because the one he _should_ be able to go to, _should_ be able to trust above all others, was the one _hurting_ him.

He had been a _child_.

She thought of her own son.

What kind of _monster_ could treat a child like that?

Defenseless, powerless, unable to fight back.

She could only imagine what sort of abuse he had suffered, or how long it had gone on, but it was obvious that he had not survived it.

Was it any wonder that he had come back so powerful?

Now he was always fighting, trying to be the hero he never had.

She closed her burning eyes and let her head fall forward. When had she started shaking?

It was apparent that she wasn’t going to get any more work done today; she was a mess, physically and emotionally. She needed to go clean herself up, to change out of her ectoplasm coated jumpsuit. Jack would be home with dinner soon anyway.

Maddie made her slow and weary way up the stairs, feeling drained of all her earlier energy.

She showered and dressed in a haze. She couldn’t seem to focus on anything, her thoughts were a static on the fringes of her mind. She was dimly aware of her day’s revelations, but each time she tried to pick out a memory and inspect it more closely, it slipped away from her like water through a sieve.

She found herself in the kitchen, clutching a mug of some hot, soothing liquid, probably tea, if she had to guess, when she heard Danny walk in the front door talking to his friends.

Jack was still gone with the GAV, usually she would have gone with him, but had declined today, so it was likely that the children didn’t realize she was home. She was just about to call out to let them know she was there when she overheard part of their conversation and the words died on her tongue.

“She just appeared out of nowhere! I panicked!” That was Danny. “I can’t believe I called her ‘ _Mom_.’ This is terrible!”

Her eyes widened at the uncanny coincidence.

“Hey, it could be worse!” Tucker laughed. “Remember that time you called Lancer ‘Mom?’”

“Thanks Tuck, that makes me feel _so_ much better.” She could practically hear the eye roll in her son’s voice.

“Not helping Tucker.” That would be Sam. “But he does kinda have a point, she actually _is_ your mom.”

_What?_

“Yeah, but she doesn’t _know_ that.”

She felt her veins turn to ice as realization struck her.

The sound of shattering ceramic echoed in her mind for several long seconds before it registered that she had dropped her mug.

She heard three sets of rapid footsteps getting closer as the world swayed around her. Danny was the first one to reach the kitchen, of course he was, the hard set of determination on his features gave way to concern as he took in the scene from the doorway.

“ _Mom?_ ” he cried out, for the second time that day.

It reverberated in her skull alongside the first and alongside the crash of her mug. A different kind of panic was present in his tone this time, it was a subtle change; he was worried _for_ her, not _because of_ her.

The floor rose up to greet her, but it didn’t get far.

Ah, there was that inhuman speed she’d been expecting earlier.

He lowered her gently to the floor and started checking her over for injuries.

A small voice from somewhere in the chaos of her mind whispered that this was all wrong. She should be the one holding _him_ in her arms, asking if _he_ was alright, she should be the one murmuring comforting words, not _him_.

The static from before was now suffocating cotton pressing in on her brain, darkness narrowed her field of vision as she tried her best to focus on her son’s worried face. She watched his mouth form the word “mom” one more time before the weight of her eyelids became too much and she finally drifted off into the peaceful embrace of unconsciousness.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I reserve the right to come back and edit this when I'm not exhausted.
> 
> Update: I did in fact decide to tweak/add to the ending after rereading it the next day. I'm much happier with it now, although I feel the need to clarify that Maddie is fine, her brain is just really overwhelmed so it pulled the old "turn it off and then back on again." Sometimes family bonding is you and your son repeatedly giving each other a panic attack.


End file.
